


Three First Times

by C-chan (1001paperboxes)



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: First Meetings, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-15
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2019-05-23 19:17:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14940285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1001paperboxes/pseuds/C-chan
Summary: The moments that Enjolras and Grantaire first remembered knowing of each other, and the first moment in which they crossed paths.





	Three First Times

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Olivia_Avery](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Olivia_Avery/gifts).



> For the prompt "How Grantaire and Enjolras first met."  
> I thought it would be interesting to play with the way memory works, and thus how the definition of this moment could be perceived differently depending on how and when you asked. I hope you enjoy!

Perhaps Enjolras had never been the best with names and faces, but he clearly remembered the first time Grantaire drew his attention.

Les Amis de l'ABC tended to have two types of meetings: those held in the Musain tended to focus more on politics, and those in the Corinthe on welfare. The context allowed a few more expert voices on each subject matter to attend, though by and large the core attendance was the same regardless of venue. The format was similar, no matter what the locale or topic: general news and updates would be shared, a speech or two would be delivered, and then the floor would be opened for further commentary and discussion before breaking up into groups to work on their various projects.

Today's meeting had started as planned. Feuilly had given a wonderful speech about the plights of immigrant women, complete with a list of concrete needs that he had discovered through personal conversations, along with those of Joly and his mistress upon their visiting the poorer quarters to provide aid. The student population had been particularly high for a Corinthe meeting, and Enjolras had greatly hoped it was a sign of increased devotion and interest in their causes.

However, the hope had quickly turned to frustration as the conversation opened to public discussion. One man—a student, by his choice of dress—had taken over the discussion completely. Or, perhaps it was more accurate to say that he'd taken over the discussion _time_ completely; the man's speech was now well over the ten minute mark, of which perhaps thirty seconds had been entirely on topic.

"You say that one can barely turn around without meeting another woman in need. Hah! If I met a woman truly in need, I'd gladly show her a home, my own; and a bed, likewise. However, my bed remains as empty as my cup, and much harder to fill at that. Oh for the day when both are overflowing; but alas, that day will never come. The time it takes for wine to mature is twice as long as a woman's beauty lasts, and both are fickle, eager to change from year to year, even when from the same stock. Yes…."

It was impressive, in a way, seeing how easily the words flowed from this man. However, the time he was wasting was important, and only Feuilly's presence stopped Enjolras from interrupting the man personally in an attempt to open a more rational and on-topic line of conversation.

Finally, one of his friends; a law student, Enjolras was fairly sure, took the soliloquist by the shoulder. 

"Stand down, Grantaire," he said, "you're drunk."

Grantaire, eh? At least Enjolras had a name to put with the voice and the face. 

Perhaps in time he'd be able to show that man the true possibilities of democracy, a just society, and how to keep a speech on topic, but in the meantime, he'd need to get the meeting back on track.

* * *

Grantaire's first recollection of Enjolras came a month or so earlier, in their group's other esteemed locale.

Grantaire knew the Musain well. It was a small café with decent wares, serving the student population and whatever other fortunate soul happened to wander through its doors. The coffee, while perhaps not as good as a handful of other establishments he could name, was strong, stimulating, and affordable: even a twice-daily cup would be no strain on the average student's allowance. The true beauty lay in its menu and alcohol selection, however, which were surprisingly low-priced for the portions given. As a result, it always seemed to be bustling with students coming in and out, with some staying longer for a game of cards or dominoes, or just for simple discussion. 

Grantaire himself was known to spend afternoons there on occasion, skillfully avoiding classes on Greek sculpture and Latin verbs. It was on one such occasion that he met a young medical student and his unlucky best friend. The two had joined his table, seeing several empty seats, and they'd ended up talking and joking for hours over arts, sciences, and occasionally politics. As providence had it, they were back the following week as well. It was at the end of the third or fourth such session that he'd been invited to a meeting of their club.

"The name's a pun, you see," Bossuet had explained, beaming with a conspiratory grin. "It's ABC, of course, for education and literacy—skills many are without, even within this city. But as the double meaning suggests, our work may go far beyond the walls of any school or place of education. If you are, ah, shall we say a man of letters? I hope you'll consider joining us here tomorrow evening as well."

"You can take my place," Joly offered. "There must have been a poor miasma around the medical buildings this morning; I've been feeling slightly off all afternoon, and fear I may need to rest tomorrow in order to fight off its effects."

"And I do hate to go alone," Bossuet agreed. "Not that there's any shame in it, of course, and certainly the comradery is lovely. However, a good partner with which to share a drink and talk, and to provide, say, a plausible reason for attendance, well, it makes the revelry all the merrier."

And that was how, one night later, Grantaire found himself entering the Mussain's back room for the first time.

He'd heard of the space, of course; a legend in its own right, rumoured to be den of thieves or scholars or… revolutionary students, apparently. The maps and arms spoke of planning and hope, neither of which Grantaire himself put much stock in, but found fascinating in others. The discourse was common enough, if with a new, well-written pitch.

He was still in the midst of acclimatizing himself to the place and the personnel; taking over with bad puns and self-introductions after Bossuet ran off to find something to mop a stain on his trousers, when the leader arrived.

The man looked like a heavenly vision given form: an angelic avatar if ever such existed. No master of the renaissance could have captured his luminescence, nor any ancient sculpture the perfection of his form.

Grantaire was bewitched. Grantaire was entranced. Grantaire was completely in love.

And, by all the gods, Grantaire was far too sober for this.

* * *

It would take ages for them to recall the first time they truly met, with only triangulation and shared recollections to serve as a guide.

The journey from Arles to Paris had been long, the various coaches cramped and the heat of summer travel had been near-unbearable at times. The French countryside had at least been beautiful during the week of travel, but his legs cramped for a long walk, his lungs for fresh air, and his stomach for a day with less jostling.

To see the city approaching was breathtaking. To enter its walls, entrancing. However, there was nothing quite like the moment when the coach finally reached its final destination, and Enjolras was allowed to disembark.

His hair was damp with sweat as he tucked loose strands behind his ear, hoping to make a decent first impression to the city despite the requisite rumpledness of travel-worn clothing. His hat added a bit of warmth overtop of the summer's sweltering heat, but it at least hid the worst of the unruliness.

He had no sooner collected his belongings when a man approached, smiling at the sight of Enjolras' luggage.

"Aha! New in town I see. Come to the city to increase your mind and education while depleting your wallet on wine and whores. You may think yourself above such now, but give it two, perhaps six months; we all follow in the same pattern. Why, I was you just three years ago, a new, bright-eyed arrival to the city, set out to make my name, my education, and perhaps my life and fortune. The city will make you fall in love, take my word of it, both with itself in all its splendor, its people in friends and companions, and with grand ideals, many of which will never come to life. Ah, to be new in the city once again. But now I am but one of its denizens, sometimes bored of the miracles at my feet. Such is the life of the Parisian. But I wish you luck, new citizen, in this new world you embark upon."

And with a doff of his hat, the man wandered off, leaving Enjolras to the city and all the wonders and horrors it held.

Grantaire, meanwhile, continued on his way, ready to lose himself in song, dance, revelry, and whatever else the night had to offer.


End file.
